One Eternal Tear

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Folken lay sprawled across the hard cot quietly watching the single flame of the oil lamp dance in the dim light it created. The ugly metal arm hung limply off the side of the bed pulling and straining his real flesh with its’ immense weight.
How long had it been since he’d awoken to discover It instead of his own flesh? How long had he laid here listless and lifeless refusing even the food the guards brought to him? Refusing to even acknowledge their existence. He wasn’t a prisoner here, but a guard was always at his door watching and waiting. His room was meagerly furnished, with the hard cot in one corner and a writing desk in the other. A looking glass hung on the wall, its frame tarnished and the glass scratched.
This was nothing like his room at home, but the again, he didn’t really have a home anymore.
How long had it been since he had seen Fanelia? Folken didn’t know anymore. Fanelia seemed an eternity away, a different lifetime, and a fading dream. He still wore the armor he’d donned to fight the dragon though now it was ragged and stained with blood.
How pathetic, he thought. How completely pathetic I am.  But how could I do it, Van? How could I kill that dragon?
The smiling face of his brother drifted across his mind.
Van I miss you so much, but I know you’ll be okay. You still have Meruru and you still have Mother.
‘Why did he kill the dragon, brother? That’s mean.’ Van had once said and Folken had agreed.
Now you’re going to have a kill a dragon, brother. Though you never asked to, never wanted to. I’m sorry, sorry for this bitter fate of ours, but I can’t return to Fanelia, I can’t return to you. I failed, I’m a disgrace.
Folken’s eyes flashed to the looking glass on the wall. Reflected in it was the flame, still dancing merrily on its wick.
Like a teardrop. A tear of flame.
Rousing himself to life he stumbled over to the silvery surface and started at his reflection.
What a joke. What a fool. He raised the metal arm to his face, its needle-like fingertips brushed his skin and a small smile slowly spread across his lips, the first he’d allowed himself since before the dragon hunt.
On the desk sat a bottle of ink and long quill beside it. Folken dipped one claw into the dark liquid. Slowly he pressed the cold metal against his cheek and began digging into the soft flesh. He didn’t even flinch as it punctured his skin only grinned more; the pain was good. He deserved the pain.
Legends say I’m a descendant of dragons, my birthright said I must destroy one, but neither are true. They say my mother’s ancestors destroyed the paradise of Atlantis, who can say if that is true? Dornkirk says we can change fate using that power of Atlantis; that is the truth. My fate has been changed from one of destruction; surely other fates can, too.
Blood poured down Folken’s face and he began working beside his right eye.
I have to change fate, this horrid destiny of war and destruction we are all born too. Van, I’ll change your fate so you won’t have to kill that dragon. Change the world so no one hates the word Draconian. Change our destiny so we can live in a world of peace. Someday I’ll return to Fanelia, but not until I’ve set things right for your gentle soul.
Folken let the metal arm drop to his side and wiped the blood away from his face with his sleeve.
A purple teardrop on his cheek and flames beside his eyes showed for a moment before his blood covered it again. He turned to look at the oil lamp.
Tears of fire. Tears of pain. An eternal teardrop on my face, but the real tears I’ll cry no more.

Folken raised himself and went to the door, the guard looked startled at Folken’s bloody appearance.
“Tell Dornkirk I am ready to learn.” He demanded. “Tell him I’m ready to change fate.”
Van, I’ll make you proud of me once again.